


Razor-Edged Pieces

by This_world_of_beautiful_monsters



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, standard Winter Soldier trauma umbrella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:13:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_world_of_beautiful_monsters/pseuds/This_world_of_beautiful_monsters
Summary: Bucky seeks revenge after the Helicarriers fall.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Razor-Edged Pieces

Once upon a time, a man fell out of the sky and broke into pieces.

Some time--a long time--later, he did it again, only this time he was already breaking when he jumped. The nice little persona they'd built up for him was crumbling to bits, shattered by the face and words of his golden-haired target. And then the target was falling, and ~~Bucky the Asset Sergeant Barnes~~ _someone_ was leaping out after him.

The water was so cold, but cold was an old friend by now. He knew this, even if he didn't knew much else. They surged up out of the dark together, reborn and rewritten.

Afterwards, he looked down at the blood man as his blood spilled across the merciless beach. He'd seen blood on beaches before, even if he didn't quite remember where. The sand ate it up hungrily and he knelt, putting pressure on the wound because ~~the target Steve Captain America~~ whoever he was could not bleed out.

He heard voices approaching and melted away into the greenery, trusting them to take care of the problem because he wasn't really in the mood to take care of anything right now. His mind was in the middle of ripping itself apart and he'd like some privacy during this difficult time, thank you very much.

He was drowning under the weight of the terrible things he'd done and the terrible things that had happened to him. He couldn't remember which was worse. Was he a victim or perpetrator in this scenario? Should he have ducked back into the water and opened his mouth, sucking the river into his lungs like liquid fire?

He. Was he a he? For a very long time, he had only been _it._ Its didn't have to suffer pain and fear and humiliation the way hes did, after all, so being an it should have been better. But...but the sun was raw on his skin, and his mind was white-hot fire, yet the act of feeling in and of itself didn't seem so bad. Certainly better than not feeling?

He, then. But who was _he?_ And where was he going?

Ah, yes, the Vault. Why not? He had to go somewhere. Except...except the Vault would have people telling him what to do, and the thought of people telling him what to do was oddly alarming. For some reason, he felt like he needed to figure these feelings out on his own.

"Get the fuck out my way--oh shit, it's _you."_

What? Oh, he was standing in the hallway and a man was running by with a computer under his arm, only to jerk to a stop at the sight of him. The asset stared at this man, trying to remember if he knew him.

"Well, at least we can salvage something from this clusterfuck," the man muttered to himself, grabbing him by the arm--

 _hands were on him, rough bruising hands, forcing him to his knees, a collar around his throat, cold water, lightning in a bottle, the future is here and it is hell, hands touching him in places he shouldn't be touched, the ugly crack of a palm across his face, the hands that would start the terrible machine and he_ didn't _want that machine anymore, if he knew nothing else he knew that_

He broke the man's neck quickly, cleanly, calmly. Then he grabbed the man's gun and ran down the hall, firing. He took more guns, fired more bullets. The world melted into a soft red haze around him and that was okay, because this was just another battle and his commander was at his side, was with him to the end of the line or something like that.

Every shot he made took a life, painting the ugly green walls a far lovelier of red. They slipped, scrabbling in their companions' blood, screaming and begging for mercy. The few who knew the magic words to break him again shouted them, but he couldn't actually hear them over the gunfire and they were down soon enough anyway.

He was screaming. He was singing. He was running. He was dancing. He was doing something terrible, he was doing the best thing he could have done. If he submitted, everything would be okay. If he submitted, he didn't deserve to stand up again.

His mind was made of razor-sharp pieces, and they felt painful against his tender soul. But sharp edges could cut other people, too. He wanted to cut them all. It was the first time he'd wanted something in so very long, and he held onto that want with everything in him.

If his gun was temporarily out of bullets, he used it to bash people's heads open. Or he broke their necks. Or he punched his metal hand through their chests and ripped out their guts, sending them slithering on the floor like snakes released from a cage. He liked that sight. This was a day of liberation, after all.

There came a time when he was standing in the middle of the prep room, covered in blood and guts, listening for running footsteps or gunfire and hearing nothing. His chest was heaving, and he suddenly realized how very very tired he was.

One of the scientists was sitting in the chair, only now the wires had been all messed up so that when he'd been dumped into the seat they'd electrocuted him. He twisted and writhed as he burned, letting out an inhuman scream, clothes smoking and burning.

 ~~The Asset Sergeant Barnes~~ Bucky (who the hell's Bucky?) watched with interest. He didn't exactly remember killing this particular man, but that was okay. He didn't remember a lot of things.

In the distant he heard footsteps. There were voices, new voices, voices that didn't sound like any of the Hydra agents he'd ever heard. He peeked through a doorway and saw a group of men in black picking their way through the carnage, led by a vaguely familiar woman with straight red hair. The men were letting out cries of disgust and confusion as they walked, but the woman didn't seem bothered by the bodies at all. In fact, the Asset thought he could make out a faint smile on her lips.

He didn't want to kill these people, he realized. He didn't want to make the woman's soft, forgiving smile go away. And when the woman turned to him, pinning him in place with her strange bright eyes, he didn't move.

"Hey there, soldier," she said, approaching him. The men raised their guns, but she held up a hand. "It's all right."

She glanced down at the bodies, her smile growing wider. "Nice piece of work. Cathartic, yeah?" Now that he thought about it, yes, maybe _cathartic_ was the right word. The pain was still there, though.

He backed up against the wall, worried about her touching him. "It hurts," he said quietly, pointing to his head. "Like broken glass."

"I know," she replied, nodding thoughtfully. "Crawling out of the dark always does."

She glanced at his ruined uniform. "You won't get very far, looking like that," she told him. "Do you want to come home with me?"

He shrugged. It had been so long since anyone had _asked_ him what he wanted, even longer than the time since he'd stopped wanting.

"Who am I?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Well, your _name_ is Bucky Barnes. Who you _are..._ you're going to have to figure that out on your own. But conducting an investigation goes better when you have sources of intel. There's someone back at the hospital who I think you'd find very useful in that regard."

"He's okay?" he asked cautiously.

The woman shrugged. "Steve? You could hit him with a missile launcher and he'd probably walk off singing show tunes."

He nodded. That was familiar, the idea of a blond face slicked with blood or flushed with sickness, but still alive, still defiant.

Being defiant sounded nice, actually. Maybe they could be defiant together.

So he walked with the woman--side by side, equals--as they headed out of that charnel house and into the light.


End file.
